


Odd Omens

by Little_Queen_of_Dreams



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley has no clue what to do with children, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, chaotic feels, mutant strawberries, or anyone who's not Aziraphale, or teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Queen_of_Dreams/pseuds/Little_Queen_of_Dreams
Summary: Crowley wouldn't say he disliked children.Yes they were small, less intelligent, and a good deal messier than other humans, but he tolerated them just the same.He tolerated them, knowing without them he wouldn't have gotten miraculous inventions such as his prized Bentley and that, without them, the world would stop functioning and both he and Azirphale would have to own up to their respective bosses.And, also, knowing it was impossible for him and Aziriphale to raise children without them also being immortal, or it would just end with more pain and questions than was worth.This was the reason he was, in fact, surprised to see a petite blonde teenager paging through a book in Aziraphale’s back room.A collection of one shots with Crowley, Aziraphale, and their goddaughter with lots of family feels.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 12





	1. Alice

**Author's Note:**

> So, I love Good Omens and thought they could fit in with my OC. (If you don't know who she is check out "Alright people, let's do this one last time" from my page). Just some fluff and family dynamics between the ineffable husbands and their chaotic goddaughter.

Crowley wouldn't say he disliked children. 

Yes they were small, less intelligent, and a good deal messier than other humans, but he tolerated them just the same. 

He tolerated them, knowing without them he wouldn't have gotten miraculous inventions such as his prized Bentley and that, without them, the world would stop functioning and both he and Azirphale would have to own up to their respective bosses. 

And, also, knowing it was impossible for him and Aziriphale to raise children without them also being immortal, or it would just end with more pain and questions than was worth. 

This was the reason he was, in fact, surprised to see a petite blonde teenager paging through a book in Aziraphale’s back room. 

Strange people weren't strange in the shop. If anything, they were normal. 

Every so often someone would come in, seeking refuge from an abusive state of life. Aziraphale would sit with them and offer them tea and a permanent refuge while Crowley was sent to “dishearten” whomever was causing them such pain. 

Those people always sat away from the windows with Aziraphale at their side, normally relatively disheveled and scared. 

They were never in the back room, after closing time, relaxed as can be whilst draping themselves across his loveseat. 

Crowley would also like to say, for the record, he is most definitely not afraid of children. 

Simply unsettled by them. 

Unsure of what to do, he whirled away from the door and practically vaulted himself up the stairs for the comfort and safety of his angel. 

Who, at that moment, was calmly selecting which vest he would wear for their next “dining excursion” at the Ritz. 

He smiled as soon as he saw Crowley. 

“It's silk, one of a kind, and the perfect shade of blue.” His words were brimming with excitement. 

“Yes, you'll look lovely. Unfortunately, we have a greater situation at the present time.”

He turned his head ever so slightly, giving the appearance of a confused kitten. “What do you mean? Gabriel's been kind enough to leave us alone for months, why would he start now?”

“It's not that.” He grabbed his shoulders. “There's a strange child downstairs. A teenager, in the back room.” 

Any worry that might have crossed Aziraphale’s angelic face dissolved. “That's just Alice.” He returned to his wardrobe. “Now, if I wear this, I should be able to wear the nice yellow one next week.”

“Alice? Who the heaven is Alice?” 

“My goddaughter,” he grinned at him through the mirror, “I do think that will be best.”

Crowley stared at him. “When did you get a goddaughter?” 

“Over a decade ago, officially.” He nodded at the mirror, contentedly. “Shall we go then?” He sighed at Crowley's expression. “You're going to want to know more, won't you?”

At that moment, the teenager (and apparently goddaughter) in question bounded up the stairs. “I have a great idea for something. Can I use the spice drawer?”

“As long as you're careful, I don't need any more fires or rabid strawberries.”

She grinned impishly, eyes flickering unsettlingly. “You're the best, uncle!” 

She ran off to the other side of the small, upper apartment and began rifling through a drawer. Aziriphale noticed Crowley’s (still bewildered) expression and nodded. “Why don't we go down and discuss this in the back room? You're not going to want to be here if she animates something again.”

~~~

Fifteen minutes and two glasses of wine later, Crowley remained thoroughly unconvinced. “How long have you known her mother?”

He shrugged. “Not long, maybe a couple thousand years at most.”

“At most?”

“Don't act so surprised. You had other contacts for completing your position, didn't you? Besides, her mother isn't someone you'd run into unless she chooses to let you.”

“So she's an angel?” Crowley poured himself more Chardonnay in an effort to remain sane. 

Aziraphale huffed. “I told you, she's not an angel or a demon. She's a faerie.”

“Faeries don't exist!”

“If you want proof, then walk upstairs.” 

Crowley put the glass down, massaging his temples. “So you have an acquaintance who's also some form of a supernatural being and designated you as The godfather of her teenage daughter, who has been in and out of this store for the past three years without me noticing.”

He grinned. “That's about it!” 

“No that's not- how the hell didn’t I notice?”

“She only comes around once a month and stays upstairs for the most part.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For the most part?”

“Well,” he seemed tentative to explain, “you see-,”

“It's another one!” Alice vaulted down the spiral staircase, small plastic lighter in hand, tearing across the room. 

Before Crowley could attempt to understand what the hell was going on (for the second time), she'd thrown open the door, jumping out into the street. 

A moment of quiet fell before a column of flame erupted from the sidewalk, seeming to extinguish as soon as it lit. A now slightly singed Alice returned to the shop, calmly stepping into the room, lighter now stowed away in a coat pocket. 

“All done.” 

Crowley stared at her, aghast. “What the hell was that?” 

“That,” she fell into a chair, “was extermination. You really didn't think heaven and hell would leave you completely alone, would you?”

“They're sending in spies?”

“They're sending in observers. Low level, slightly sentient observers. Stuff enough on the down low that the woman upstairs won't notice.” She raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t noticed anything?”

He glared. “I didn’t notice you before.”

“Mother made sure until today.” She turned her attention back to her coat, playing with the small plastic lighter. “She’s very overprotective that way.”   
  


Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Don’t play with that! Do you have any ideas of the dangers that could cause?”

“It’s just hellfire. I’m not creating a monster strawberry plant again.”

“How did you get hellfire into a lighter?” Crowley squinted at it.

Alice shrugged. “My roommate owed me a favor.”

“So he went to hell?”

“It was on his way.”

“Will you stop bickering?” Aziraphale did his best to attempt an angry expression. 

Crowley eased himself into an armchair. “What do you do if hell comes?”

“Easy,” she rifled through her pockets again, producing a small atomiser. “Holy water.”

“Did your roommate get that for you too?” He leaned back, skeptically. 

“Nope,” she mirrored his action. “I either get it from church or amazon.”

“You steal from a church?”

“I don't steal, I ask for it.” She pulled a miniature cross dangling from a chain out from under her shirt. “I'm Catholic after all.”

He flinched away from it, instinctively, watching as Alice’s smirk grew. 

“I know you're supposed to be a big scary demon, but it's hard to take you seriously when you're afraid of something barely a half inch tall.”

“Didn't you have an experiment you were conducting?”

A smile slowly crept up her face. “Do you want to see?” 

Crowley met Aziraphale's eyes and shrugged. “Why not?”

Ordinarily, Crowley didn't particularly like children. 

Alice, however, was no ordinary child. 

  
  



	2. Another Experiment (sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley beginning to bond with the small creature that's pried her way into both his and Aziraphale's lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Alice family feels!
> 
> (I moved rooms over the summer, so the angst found in assembling IKEA furniture comes from experience).
> 
> Kudos are amazing and comments give my life!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> IF YOU WANT MORE, PLEASE BUG ME ABOUT IT. I'M EASILY DISTRACTED!!!!

“Uncle!” 

Crowley looked up from his book. “He went out, Alice.”

It had been a couple months since their first encounter and while he still wasn't completely used her presence around the bookshop, he'd accepted the fact that she, in fact, existed, was something that wasn't going away anytime soon, and had somehow been responsible for the destruction of Aziraphale’s original kitchen island. 

“You work too, could you come help me?”

His mind raced to the worst alternatives. “Is it another experiment?” 

“No, I just need someone tall.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “And you called Aziraphale?”

“Are you going to help or not?”

“Fine.” He got up and walked closer to where he assumed the sound was coming from. 

Crowley had been informed that Alice's room inhabited what he'd assumed was a linen closet, but he was still surprised to see it. 

The room itself was a glorified closet the builders had tried to pass off as a second bedroom by scraping out an even smaller box of a closet in one wall. The far wall seemed just large enough for her to fit a miniature roll top desk next to a daybed swallowed by a few overstuffed pillows and different handmade blankets from Aziraphale's various crochet and quilting phases. Alice, herself, was perched on a desk chair, dangerously leaning back into the closet. 

“What do you need?”

“You're here?” There was a muffled thump before her head peaked out. “Can you pass me a screwdriver?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you need someone tall for that?”

“It’s in the upper basket.”

“Yeah,” his eyes traveled to what had previously appeared to be some sort of shrubbery hybrid, now seeing it for the hanging tower of baskets questionably supported by a thin length of string. He fished the item out of the farthest one and handed it to the also questionably supported Alice. 

“Thanks” 

“Why is it there?”

“Screw,” a pale hand slipped out from the door for the object that Crowley grudgingly obliged. “Because, if not, Uncle tries to fix things.”

“And he can't?” Crowley grasped a small satchel and began feeding the metal bits into the reappearing hand. 

“Please,” she grunted, chair shaking precariously. “He cut off power for the entire block once when he tried to hang a shelf. And don't get me started on the ikea furniture he brings in.”

“So, you set up everything?”

“Everything.” The word rolled off her tongue in a familiar manner. “I had to install half the bookcases in his shop, the WiFi router-”

“The kitchen island?”

A head peaked out. “What kitchen island?”

“He replaced his a few months ago, the style is different.”

“But is there an island there?” Her eyes narrowed. 

He shrugged. “A completely different one.”

“It's there. End of discussion. Rod.” The head disappeared again, replaced by a hand, fingers gesturing to another corner.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “What are you even doing?” 

“Hanging a curtain.” The phrase was followed by another grunt, this time with swearing. “I keep my mess in here and I don't always want to see it.” 

“If it annoys you that much, why don't you get a door?”

“I can't,” she hefted the wooden pole up, chair continuing to waver. “I can either get a door or fit hangers. The unnecessary slab of wood didn't make the cut.” An uncomfortable crunch sounded followed by more swearing. “If I can get the damn thing up.”

He winced. “Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“Probably.”

“That's a yes or no question.”

“Wait one second,” a scraping sound ripped through the air, causing Crowley to wince even more. “Got it!” 

She jumped down, letting the chair crash down into the floor, grinning proudly. “What do you think?” 

“How long were you in there?” He leaned closer to inspect her handiwork. 

“Not as long as you.” Her grin widened with his blush. “Now for the curtain.”

Crowley watched as Alice traipsed around the room, pulling cloth and all manner of rings and fasteners out from baskets, drawers and satchels in what seemed to be a precise and organized fashion despite their haphazard arrangement. He didn't object as she threw them all into a box, which she placed into his open palms, chattering while she worked. 

“Doctor can't believe you went that long without noticing I was here, though I reminded her it took her an awful long time to realize Rose loved her.”

“Really?”

“She just huffed and went sulking to River?”

“Who's River?” 

“Riversong, her wife.”

“Ah,” he nodded in a way he hoped appeared knowing. 

“She also thought it might be a dangerous choice for you to be in an influential position in my life, but I told her I have an excellent judge of character.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what do you think?”

“Well,” she paused from hanging the curtain. “You're an awful demon who just takes credit for the things humanity does to themselves, you pretend to not care when you care deeper than almost anyone else, you run a regime of terror over your houseplants, and you make my uncle very happy.”

“And that's all you need?”

She paused for a moment, letting herself drop down into her bed before leaping up to continue her work. “Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Is there anything else I should know?” She met his eyes, her own filled with a peculiar intensity, less so with a curious innocence, but rather the careful consideration of someone who had spent much too long in a long, painful world. 

Slightly unsettled, he nodded carefully. “What now?” The box he'd once held had been returned to its home, precariously stacked on a dangerously tall stack of books, a curtain of navy blue etched with stars hanging in the once empty doorway. 

“Oreos!” 

“Zira doesn’t have Oreos, he says heavily processed food is a crime against humanity.”

“I know,” she shrugged, “I build his furniture, don't I?”

He squinted. “What do you mean?”

“He's got a couple cabinets with false backs is all I mean.” Alice smirked. “I can't survive here on my period without some sort of processed food, especially the chocolate type.”

“Wouldn't he notice?” Crowley eyed her, perplexed. “Don't get me wrong, it's an ingenious trick. I just don't see how exactly you could pull it off without him noticing.”

“Yes, because IKEA furniture is so much easier to assemble when your anxiety-filled uncle is standing by, jumping at the slightest chance that you've hurt yourself.”

He bit his lip. “You've got a point there.”

“Of course I have.” She turned on her heel. “Join me?”

He couldn't help but smile. 


End file.
